


Somewhere New

by orphan_account



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The author is not a sadist, Why Did I Write This?, Winged!Grian, Worldbuilding, character development is hard, headcanons, minecraft personas ONLY, no beta we die like men, quarantine got me bored, season 6 onwards, winged Grian au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23690347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Grian was so excited to see what this ‘Hermitcraft’ world had to offer. The rules may be a little different, and he missed his old friends dearly, but he was somewhere new and it would be a shame to waste the opportunity. There were pranks to pull and people to meet. The past was in the past, forever, but the future was something to look forward to, even if he couldn’t stay forever.Though people don’t forget things that easily. Some remember what they once had, miss what they used to possess. A taste is all you need to keep coming back for more, be it freedom or power. Memories are powerful.For example, Grian’s wings were gone. Seriously, why were they removed? He wants them back.
Comments: 60
Kudos: 325





	1. Time To Go

**Author's Note:**

> My take on the Watcher AU because why not? Enjoy, I suppose.

Interplaner travel was awful for everyone involved. It also hurt. Of course, this wasn’t the first time Grian had done it, but circumstances change. This time he knew it was going to happen and the transfer from the Watcher Realm to wherever they decided to put him was a well-planned decision – as opposed to getting betrayed by his dear friend Sam and brutally murdered, before being dropped into a broken universe. Evo was… buggy, to say the least.

He spent what felt like months in the grand libraries with a Watcher, learning the laws of the multiverse. Sorcery was the Watchers’ way of ‘hacking’ into the world code, being able to edit things as they saw fit – though, true to their name, they never interfered unless things became dangerous, such as in Evo. Leaving his friends was heartbreaking, but everyone understood that it was necessary to protect the server.

And there was a neat pair of feathered wings that came with the deal. The Watcher Palace was in an infinite void, which had excellent space to learn the art of exhilarating flight. When the memories became too much to handle, he would take to the skies and leave grief far below as he soared through the air. Up high above the rest, there was a feeling of freedom, a weightlessness (though it may just be the lack of oxygen). After a while he became more comfortable up above than on stable Earth, and usage of the odd appendages became second nature. They were his solace in a world without those he held dear, a way of coping with the loss.

Grian pondered his experiences as him and a Watcher strode through the palace for the final time. Greek columns of smooth marble lined the glittering waters of the fountain, blood-red roses stretching their reach up towards the azure sky above. Nothing could die here, all was in a perpetual state of perfection: the people young and fit, the greenery vibrantly lush, the sun shining through to illuminate all in a golden glow. As the pair made their way through the winding hallways, one eyed with polite disinterest, while the other itched to examine the intricacies of the carpet designs and the detailed beauty of the stained glass windows. Oh, and that alcove was simply gorgeous! He had spent weeks exploring, but there always seemed to be something new.

Eventually, they arrived in an empty room. No windows, no pretty patterns, nothing. Blank.

“There is somewhere we think you might enjoy, Xelqua. We merely watch these worlds, as is our duty, but you have never been one for observation. Our experimentation on the Evolutionists had left you weakened, unstable, glitchy. Alas, the remedies for our mistakes have been administered and the time has come for you to leave us once more.” At this, the imposing figure of the Watcher crouched down to offer a hug, a goodbye. After a moment, the builder wrapped his arms around the other, burying his head in their shoulder. “We all loved seeing your adventures and wish that you provide much entertainment in the future. One day, you might walk these halls with us again, feast with us in celebration, and spend eternity free of mans’ burdens. That is not today.”

The Watcher pulled away from the rare show of intimacy to plant their hands on the ground, palms splayed as they chanted a spell. On the polished quartz floor sprawled a glowing violet circle of runes that swirled and twisted like a serpent. The ancient characters overlapped and shifted across one another in a dizzying display of power. As Grian stepped inside, he could feel the energy thrumming, pulsating like a heartbeat as tendrils of magic begin to curl around him possessively in a suffocating embrace. There were voices all around, whispers that grew louder and louder, drowning him. He couldn’t breathe through the pressure crushing his lungs, couldn’t see through the blistering heat of the magic, couldn’t hear over the screaming – his screaming? It built up, and up, and up, a torrential hurricane that ripped him apart at the very core.

The black spots fully overcame his vision, and all bled away to silence. Except for a single sentence.

“Good luck.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what I’m doing. Heavily inspired by all the other Hermitcraft fics on this site - there aren’t enough, so I’ve made my own. This will continue provided nobody begs me to stop, so do your worst.
> 
> Have a nice day (and if it’s late please go to sleep you need rest)!


	2. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is here now. It’ll take a while to get set up, but it’ll be so worth it to start pranking people.

The Hermits laughed and joked with each other as Xisuma set up the portal to their sixth world. They recounted tales from their time on this plain, adding on bits and expanding the stories until they couldn’t be further from the truth, at least in Mumbo’s opinion. “It’s not VexCraft and it never will be, if I have any say in the matter. You’re ridiculous, the lot of you. Lies and slander. Everyone was great this season, though, but I definitely had the best base!” He laughed and rocketed over to the finished portal, the others giggled as they chased, shouting playful insults and shoving each other lightly.

Xisuma called out, silencing the group “Right everyone! I did some scouting ahead”

“Freaky admin powers” Doc muttered from beside Stress, who snorted.

“And it looks like we might even have someone new joining us. You know the rules – no scaring them off with pranks.” He shoots the ConVex a pointed look. “I’ve got some plans for where we’re going to built stuff this time. The place we’re using is an island with lots of areas where we can…”

One by one the Hermits lost interest in the speech, until X simply sighed and handed them each a map. “Well don’t come crying to me when someone’s creeper farm explodes your fortress because you built it in the industrial district, okay?”

The obsidian frame lit up with an ethereal glow, and everyone stepped through to their new home.

* * *

Once Grian awoke, he couldn’t go back to sleep, anchored by a throbbing headache and a dull pain along his back. The harsh sunlight blinded him as he tried to open his eyes, blinking rapidly to adjust. Sitting up, the builder groaned and immediately flopped back down onto the soft grass – does this new world constantly spin around like someone just punched a sheep?

Oh right, this was the new world. It seemed pretty empty: a large island with sand and shrubbery, the rush of the ocean all around and the tang of salt in the air. No grand bases or structures, and this place certainly wasn’t terraformed. The Watchers were vague and generally unhelpful when he asked questions about Hermitcraft, as always, but surely there would be other people here too. He longed to explore, to stretch his wings and let the winds guide him across the infinite world. Though his back definitely hurt too much to fly, and he couldn’t see his-

Where did his wings go?

Before he could dissolve into a panicked mess, he felt a tug at the fabric of reality. An opening into the unknown expanded into existence , folding and rearranging the space around it to create a tangible portal, from which a plethora of figures appeared. They were cheerful as they joked, clearly very close to each other. It was an odd group, that was obvious. Most looked human enough, but there were a few exceptions – a creeper cyborg and a perfectly friendly zombie were most obvious, as well as a man wearing a purple helmet. This all looked so exciting!

He pushed past the lingering nausea to grin and wave from his now upright position on the ground. The others cheered and he giggled with them. Then, he asked a question he’s been wondering about for a while now: “So how does Hermitcraft… work?”

They all laughed, though it was with him rather than against him, and each offered their ideas of what it meant to be a hermit. The general consensus is that nobody really knows. Don’t die and cause chaos. If there’s one thing Grian knew how to do, it was chaos and entertaiment.

The large group dispersed to begin their projects, and once again the builder was alone. This time, however, he had friends to make and pranks to pull. There was so much to do, and eternity wouldn’t be long enough. First, though, he had to get himself situated, and the great Xelqua wouldn’t settle for a horrid dirt hut.


	3. Foundations for the future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s good to remember the past, is it not?

When he ~~abandoned~~ left Evo to join the Watchers, there had been far fewer structures and items that spawned into the world naturally. The Watchers, despite all their preaching about observation and minimal interference, quite enjoyed messing with the Generator.

The Generator was a floating violet orb that resided in the very heart of the Watcher Island. Once, only a day or two after Evo, two Watchers escorted him to a room deep within the Palace, below the surface of the island. The room was circular in shape, made of magenta stone, as if someone (or something) had infused the pearlescent quartz walls and floor with pure magic, raw and unimaginably strong. High above the trio, the ceiling was a dome that arched upwards, carved with runes that flared a defiant teal against the deep, untamed magic of the Watchers. Wizardry had always been a less volatile way of harnessing power, a structured, logical approach to directing the flow of reality that used filtering and discipline to take what was needed. A stark contrast to the chaos and unstoppable force of the watcher magic.

In the very centre lay the Generator, its magic contaminating the air and seeping into the rock like a poison. It levitated above a pedestal that stood upon a small dais, the saturated rock layered with thousands upon thousands of rune circles. Grian’s ears were filled with a buzzing, while the air seemed heated and almost sparking against his skin. The faint scent of smoke permeated the room, as if it were about to go up in flames, or get struck by lightening, or combust, or implode, or collapse into a black hole that consumed everything. This thing, this instrument of power, needed to be contained. Protected. Or was it the rest of reality that needed protecting? Maybe the Generator was reality itself, all of existence in one ball that could fit in his palms.

“Long ago,” one of the Watchers began, voice cutting through the static, “There was a person. This person wandered through the infinite void, blank and clear.” The Watcher conjured a spectral figure, who walked through the air and began to act out the story.

“ There was nothing to see, nothing to do. The only things in the universe were little wisps of magic, floating through the void aimlessly, much like the person. As there was nothing else to do, our protagonist searched through the emptiness and gathered every little scrap they came across. Of course, in eternity one can accomplish anything.” The little figure wandered around the room and seemed to collect little puffs of mist, pulling them into their chest.

“Until one day, there was nothing left except the person. They wanted to create something – a friend, perhaps? Worlds, planets, the sun, the grass. And so they did.” The little illusion swept its arms out, and left constellations in its wake. Lights flashed and he could hear the sounds of rushing water, the morning song of the birds, the clatter of a skeleton, the bubbling of lava deep underground. Grian listened, enraptured, as the Watcher told the tale.

The spectral planets scattered like dust in the wind, far apart. “To keep everything in order, the god, for that is what they had become, split the worlds from one another and separated them. This granted peace.”

“And when all was finished, and the multiverse complete, the god created the Watchers’ Island, and summoned the Palace of Stars to house their people. They used their blood to form the fountain, pure and clear. Towers and columns were formed from their bones, and their infinite knowledge created the library of the ages. A life was sacrificed to make a sanctuary for more life to flourish.” A copy of the island appeared from the mist, grand and elegant. “They created us, little Xelqua, to protect what had been so carefully constructed. We Watch the multiverse, as was the dying wish of the god.”

“What happened to the limitless magic, you ask? A well of power so great, so absurdly vast? The god left us a last gift, in the form of the Generator. It can create and it can destroy, it can birth and it can kill. We vow to Watch the multiverse, but worlds are constantly dying, and as such need replacing, or deleting. Admittedly we never had the innate ability to craft realms and form worlds at out fingertips that our predecessor once had, but the generator is our reality warper, and we wish for you to wield it alongside us. You have been saved from a dying world, found solace in our home, with us.”

The pair of winged deities guided him up the steps, and the Generator lifted itself to fit in his cupped hands. A rush of energy coursed through him, and he gasped in awe of what he could now see.

“Would you like to become one of us?”

And from then on Grian had become one of the Watchers, seeing the multiverse and given the burden of knowledge. Together, the Watchers used the Generator to create new worlds, each better than the last. They added new rules, new physics, new creations and new landscapes. Of course, they added the players, whose ideas and abilities transformed what the Watchers gave them into something new. The multiverse was a sandbox, and the players were ever so entertaining to observe.

So when Grian saw the shipwreck underwater, he knew that it was a mark – he had been there when it was implemented, after all. He decided to keep a reminder of what he had been a part of, and what he still was. Being a player once more gave him new opportunities and new choices, no longer shackled by responsibility and duties. He would use his past as a framework to build the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is now a backstory and actual lore. What have I done?


	4. Tea and the Undead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s good to make friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think of the timeline as YHS, them Evo, then the Watchers, then Hermitcraft. He had to have a childhood at some point, right?
> 
> Also fluff. And 69 kudos. 
> 
> Nice.

At the age of seven, Grian left England with his family to start a new life in Japan. He was curled up on the sofa, draped in blankets and engrossed in the television when his father muted the show and sat down beside him. “So, do you remember that new job that I was talking about a few weeks ago? It pays incredibly well, so we can get a new house and do more fun things, like trips and big birthday parties! Me and your mother think it’s a great idea. The only problem… is that the job is in Japan, so we have to move.”

“And I know that you have so many friends here that we will be leaving, but you can stay in touch. It will be quite different over there, so we’ve all just got to stick together, eh?” He offers a lopsided grin, to which Grian responds by clinging to his side, blanket cave forgotten.

“We’ll still see them, right? You have Oli’s mum’s number and we can call. It’s sad, but I’m excited too! New people. Do they speak Japanese? Will I still go to school? What’s the job like? Can we bring the cats?”

The man laughs at the barrage of questions, “Everything is sorted, son. We just wanted you to know that it will be fine. We’re going on a big boat to get there! Across the ocean and we’ll see lots of fish.”

The previous sorrow was soon replaced by a childish excitement. The two spent the next half hour or so just enjoying each other’s company, spending time together that they usually wouldn’t get, so caught up in what needed to be done. Pearl and Maui curled up on Grian’s lap, savouring the warmth and offering their services as some lovely purring cushions.

When the conversation ended and the sun began to set, the older of the pair took a little box out from a drawer, and handed it to Grian, smiling softly. When the boy opened the box, he pulled out a glass bottle with a pirate ship inside. “We don’t want you to be scared, seeing a big ship out in the ocean, so we got you a little one to see first. It’s a strange gift I kno-“

“Thanks, dad.”

He smiled, taking in all the details of the model: cannons lining the glossy wood and a mast sticking up with a giant sail tied to it that nearly scraped the top of the bottle. The detail was astounding, the entire ship decorated with little wooden sculptures. “I’m the captain of my very own pirate ship! And when we get on the real ship, I’ll take over that one and get an army of pirates to rule the world!”

“Of course darling,” he chuckled, “but first you need to go to bed.”

Grian had a content smile on his face as he rebuilt the wreckage and encased it in glass. The interior was small, but comfortably warm and dry. Getting it to be anything other than sopping wet had taken a lot of time and effort, but the result was well worth it. The sun had set long ago and staying out was risky.

He had just finished the bubble elevators, popping out onto the water’s surface with a triumphant cheer, when a voice called from the beach, “Grian, duck!”

A trident whizzed past his head, and he whipped around to find a horde of Drowned making their way towards him. He hurriedly dropped down through the bubbles to land heavily on the glass floor of the bottle, and most decidedly did not scream.

The trapdoor at the top slammed shut with a resounding clunk, but not before something got inside. Grian pulled out his sword, fully prepared to fight for his life, only to be pinned to the floor by the weight of another person. A warm, alive, not zombie.

“Is that a sword, or are you happy to see me? I’m Scar, by the way.”

During he scramble to get inside, Scar had been scratched on the calf by some particularly sharp nails. Apparently the undead don’t use manicures. Grian made sure to disinfect and bandage the cut the best he could, since animated corpses weren’t known for their cleanliness.

The pain clearly still bothered Scar, judging by the occasional hisses as he shifted, but Watcher magic was volatile at the best of times, so using it now would probably do something ridiculous like clone him, or cause even more injuries. The lesser of two evils.

The Drowned were still prowling around the exit, occasionally thumping the glass. Safe inside, since the walls of the bottle were very strong, Grian and Scar had set up a blanket fort just outside the ship and in perfect view of the zombies – great entertainment could be found once the adrenaline wore off a bit. They couldn’t exactly leave without getting mauled, so they instead opted for an impromptu sleepover, at least until another hermit could free them.

“I was originally over here to give you your communicator. That’s how we all co-ordinate our pranks and stuff. I guess helping you not die was just a bonus.” With that, Scar hands the builder a silver wristband with a teal square in the centre, like a watch. “I sent a message to the main chat, so someone will eventually get us out of here.”

“Mr Server Admin made them indestructible and there’s a cool hologram that shows the text and a keyboard to type with. I’ll show you the details later, but for now let’s watch these idiots try to get in.” As if on queue, there’s a thud against the wall and a comically offended face is pressed against the glass.

Grian stood up and rummaged through a chest, emerging victorious and clutching two teabags like a lifeline. He pulled out some mugs from the same chest and plopped back down next to his new friend, drowning himself in pillows. Scar grins, a sky blue glow softly tinting his hands.

“We can’t have tea without hot water, silly. Lucky for you, the great wizard Scar has a few tricks up his sleeves!”

It was, admittedly, very good tea.


	5. Magical Misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s usually a good idea to sleep when you’re tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trauma and suffering with the boys.

Right above the desk, a torch blazed fiercely, casting flickering shadows all throughout the ship that seemed to leap from corners and dance across the papers strewn about the floor. It truly was a gorgeous purple flame: a lavender speck that threw itself relentlessly against its cage of deeper plum and fiery magenta that was framed by a paper-thin border of cyan, knowing it was trapped but never giving up. Admirable yet a futile attempt. Grian stared at the fire, gaze unfocused, from his position sprawled across the planks as ink stained his hands and elbows to black.

It could have been weeks since he’d left the bottle, or it could have been less than a day. He didn’t really care. What did matter was that he was ready to pull his hair out in frustration at the lack of progress. In fact, he would gladly do so if his limbs would cooperate. Too many experiments and not enough sleep left him emotionally, mentally and physically exhausted, barely conscious enough to keep the room lit. To get up and relight the torch manually seemed an impossible task and he was honestly too scared for even a moment of darkness, lest the drowned find their way inside.

He was properly grounded now for the first time in so, so long. There was time to think. He could no longer simply fly away from the guilt, or distract himself with anything and everything that caught his eye. He had constantly strived to be better, to go beyond reason and do his very best, that he never stopped to truly process things. In Evo, there was always a new project, or a prank to pull, or a Taurtus to summon. Dying and being reborn was something he didn’t like to dwell on to much. Everyone was constantly doing something, and when it had finally started to slow down his friends were ripped from him by circumstance.

Then he replaced building with magic, throwing himself into books and practice with an almost desperate glee. The Watchers were… pitying at best, when it came to emotions. At worst, they were callous, telling him simply to “Get over it. You were weak, but now you are stronger.” They indulged in expression sometimes, but a smile is meaningless when one’s eyes are obscured by a porcelain mask.

It felt like he had died twice, once to a blade and once to fate’s whims. Both utterly destroyed his heart. Never again would he see his mother’s soft smile, or his father’s bellowing laugh. Netty, Tomohawk, Solidarity, and so many more. More names and faces that had blurred into a single thought. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Repeated again and again, like a broken record that still spun round on repeat. People that he had to say his last goodbyes to, and some he never could. Taurtus, with him through two lives that were far from dull. The only one who knew, truly understood. Together they were unstoppable, stronger than ever before yet weak and vulnerable in a way that allowed for even greater strength.

He was gone.

Grian buried his head in his hands, sobs breaking from his chest. There was probably ink all over his face now, wasn’t there?

Four days. Four days and Grian still hadn’t left his house. It was definitely starting to worry Mumbo.

The builder had been quite vague about exactly what was going on in there; he was supposedly doing something for Tag, which was a great game and hilarious, by the way. Surely there wasn’t much you could do inside your base to prepare – and scheming never took this long for the notorious prankster.

Grumbling about the lack of elytra, Mumbo decided to pay the other Hermit a visit. They were neighbours, after all, and it was natural to be worried.

He descended the bubble elevator and made a beeline for where he assumed Grian would he holed up inside the ship. Indeed, the builder was there, curled up on the paper-strewn floor with his breath ragged, tears rolling down his cheeks that carved streaks into the ink staining his face. The visiter’s stomach dropped and he swiftly knelt down in front of the other, calling reassurances and kind words upon deaf ears. When he reached out his hand to graze Grian’s shoulder, the builder jerked back in surprise and his eyes shot open.

“It’s just me, Mumbo. You’re on the ship, in the bottle. I came to check on you. Are you okay? I mean, obviously not but do you want to… move? There’s a bed over there that you really look like you need right now.”

A watery chuckle and a shake of the head were answer enough for both of them.

They sat on the floor together for a few minutes in an somewhat awkward silence. One was furiously scrubbing at his eyes, while the other tried to dispel most of his lingering panic, wanting to seem strong for the sake of his friend.

Eventully, Mumbo lifted the frankly absurdly light man to drop him into the velvety bed that had been forgotten in the corner. Grian looked so small like that, oversized scarlet jumper spilling around his form, highlighting his pale features and accentuating the bags underneath his eyes. This Grian was nothing like the unstoppable force of nature that everyone was getting to know so well.

“Night, Mumby Jumby.”

“Good night.”

Grian’s breath soon evened out and he drifted off to sleep, exhaustion evident. Had he not slept at all these past days?

His gaze swept across the clutter and mess in the room, opting to clear it up a bit. He bent down to gather all the notes from the floor, reaching between floorboards and under chests to find them. It was like a very unusual game of hide and seek, Mumbo Jumbo vs an army of theories about… magic?

Yes, the notes were, once he deciphered the atrocious handwriting, all detailing some sort of regeneration, or at least that’s what his best guess was. The word ‘detailed’ was a very loose description, as the writing was hurried and often omitted key information, or in a completely different language entirely. Some of the fresh writing, ink smudged and still glistening slightly, was mostly frustrated questioning. As much as Mumbo wanted to help, he had no idea how one would go about ‘placing the spell nexus between the scapulae’ or ‘forming the helix of Kronos beneath Odin’s spear.’ Dotted around the pages were more scribbles in that odd runic language that were mostly crossed out angrily.

The purple torch on the wall had dimmed to mere embers, presumably magic of some sort that went out as the one who cast it stopped thinking. Mumbo relit the torch through normal means, illuminating the room once more with the warm orange glow of natural fire that filled the room with comforting warmth.

The man puttered around for a while, just generally clearing things up a bit. Those chests were a nightmare and it wasn’t like their owner was going to do anything about it, after all. He left the stack of papers and a glass of water beside the bed for whenever Grian woke up, with a little note on top:

‘These are cool and all, but you should sleep if you want to concentrate better :)’

Satisfied with his work, he left.

A week or so later, a message popped up on Mumbo’s communicator as he arrived at the shopping district. It was from Grian, the custom ping as obnoxious as usual. A spike of terror went through him, what if something had happened again?!

You think im bread: hey mumbro

You think im bread: look up

Mumbro Moustachless: What? Are you alright?

Directly above him, Grian’s face peered down. Mumbo yelped, much to the other hermit’s amusement if the mad giggles were anything to go by.

“What was that for, you absolute little sh- wait, how are you even flying? You never got an elytra.”

The prankster lowered himself to the ground, showcasing a pair of angelic wings. They were easily 7 feet long each, a pale lavender hue that gradually faded to flawless white feathers at the edges, grand and somewhat imposing as they angled up slightly to reach into the air. The thousands upon thousands of feathers were layered onto each other to create a living mosaic that bent and shifted the longer he stared. Grian seemed nervous and a little embarrassed, plucking at the sleeve of his jumper, eyes fixated on the grass under his feet.

“They’re a bit over the top if I’m honest with you. Even if they’re ridiculous, they’re fun and I kinda want to make an elytra course just so I can beat everyone on it. I was planning to tag someone using them because that would be so cool. Just going about your business and BAM! Tag! What do you think, Mr Moustache?”

“I think I would win that elytra race.”

“Cocky as usual. Alright then, first to my base wins. Three, two, o- GO!” Grian launched off into the sky with a laugh, Mumbo rocketing after him.

“I totally won.”

“Liar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently the bones of a bird are hollow to make them lighter. That’s weird.


	6. A lovely chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grian and Xisuma have a lovely chat about their pasts. The Watchers are quite weird.
> 
> People aren’t always who they say they are, either.

The Watchers had weird ideas about names. When a normal person introduces themselves to another, one of the first things they tell you is their name. ‘Hi, I’m … and it’s nice to meet you.’

Of course, that far was too logical for the great Watchers, who would never tell you their name unless you directly asked with a good reason for wanting to know. If one eventually wrangled a straight response out of them, the name itself was often overly dramatic, unpronounceable, or impossible to spell unless written in runes. Usually all three. It seemed that the less someone referred to you by your own name, thus giving someone who didn’t know an opportunity to avoid embarrassment, the better of a Watcher you were. Bastards. At one point he even stopped trying to guess pronouns for them – most really didn’t care about that sort of thing, but those that did would happily murder any who screwed up. Most Watchers were a little trigger happy about one thing or another, to be honest. They had weird morals, and got offended by things that wouldn’t affect another person. Giant egos, too. He had learnt quickly to be careful with his words and actions.

When they took Grian in as one of their own, they decided it would be a great idea to give him his very own absurd name. Who calls their kid Xelqua? On that note, do the Watchers even have kids like humans do? The idea that two of the normally stoic and unshakeable guardians would perform something so ‘primitive’ and ‘frivolous’ and ‘undignified’ as conception made Grian almost fall off his mega-base from giggling too much.

Not a plant pot, thank you very much Mr Wizard Pirate.

That was a funny idea, though. Imagine the hermits with Watcher-approved dramatic names. Iskall was a very fancy name already, but could be spelt even weirder. Ischkialle? Perfect. Scar would be henceforth referred to only as Tskarr, and Mumbo as Moumboau. Xisuma’s new name could be...

Xisuma was a very Watcher name already. That’s odd.

During his contemplation, Grian realised that having wings all of a sudden would most certainly be suspicious. Could he play it off as feathers on an elytra? Perhaps one of those bugs someone mentioned earlier could have caused him to fuse with a chicken. In a place with a sentient zombie, a creeper cyborg, a man with a bionic eye, Mumbo’s fabulous moustache, and so much more… is a pair of wings really such a problem? Best to get that elytra just in case someone asked. Who knows, maybe he could sell it for some quick diamonds – he really, really needed diamonds.

Off to the end!

The first thing Xisuma always did when a new world began was make a base. This starter base was very different from the rest of the hermits’, as it contained a great deal of things that he probably shouldn’t have. A lot of very odd equipment.

Situated deep beneath the shopping district was the Admin Cave, as the rest of the server had dubbed it. Black concrete walls acted like computer screens: vivid green text scrolling through little boxes across the room that flashed and dinged sporadically for attention. Glowstone lined the equally dark roof, melted into the concrete, and the small shards glittered like stars up above. The plush violet carpet covering the floor was dotted with beanbags of various colours, one of which currently held the sleeping admin, sans helmet. All very comfortable and soft.

The little clicks and buzzes from the code were when something needed fixing, so naturally they were constant background noise. Ever since the beginning of Hermitcraft, there have been these ‘glitches’ in the world. An animal in the back of your boat might suddenly disappear, or time could freeze for a few hours. Physics often simply… didn’t make sense. Anything that broke was a problem, and anything that could be dangerous, like a new player, made a very loud noise indeed. Anything related to _them_ let out a single incessant beep that continued until the issue was resolved. Xisuma did what he could, but one man can never do everything.

Hidden behind the wall of text was a doorway that led to his workshop. He wore the helmet for a reason, after all, and it was often damaged or rendered obsolete by the change of worlds. The other hermits sometimes also needed technology that required intricate redstone wiring and occasionally a touch of magic. He had a duty to his people.

This room was all metal and smooth surfaces, lined of shelves crammed full of projects. Gentle emerald light bathed the area in a soft glow that was easy on the eyes (which was a necessity when one stayed up for days at a time). A prototype for Doc’s arm lay on a workbench, deactivated with wires hanging everywhere. It seemed that it was a lost cause at this point, if the angry sticky notes plastered all over it were any indication. The room was a giant mess, but most would be too wowed by the science and professionalism to be concerned by the limbs and potentially deadly things haphazardly tossed into the scrap box, which was smoking slightly.

A ping startled X from his nap. Those communicators were really annoying sometimes.

Goat Father: I fell into the void. Enderpearled off the edge, but had just enough time to shove everything in a shulker.

Goat Father: Can you get my stuff? Pretty please.

God: Fine. Coordinates?

Goat Father: Thanks! I’ll send them through.

One of the first things Xisuma did to Hermitcraft was the prevention of serious harm to any people alive. It had taken weeks of effort to even begin sorting through the matter forming the universe without any proper tools, but eventually he’d cracked it. Death was now a temporary affliction that dropped the victim into the last place they slept, like waking from a nightmare. It still hurt like hell, and the after effects were far from pleasant but it’s better to vomit your breakfast than be dead forever. The void had to be one of the worst ways to die. Slow suffocation whist the abyss rips away your soul and you wither away. Doc must have been feeling like crap now.

He sighed and reluctantly left the comfort of the beanbag.

Time passed slower in the End than in the Overworld. That’s why Xisuma had always disliked going there for too long – so much can go wrong and he would never know in time to get back. Then again, it was strangely peaceful in the emptiness that encompassed the islands. It was silent in a way the bustle of life never was. X had sat himself on the edge of an island, legs dangling into the abyss, as he got lost in his thoughts.

“Never seen you without the mask thingy before.” A voice piped up from behind, out of his view. Grian.

Xisuma’s voice felt clearer without the obstruction. His words were less filtered. More honest? “It’s easier to breathe here.”

“I guess? The floating islands out in the middle of nowhere just reminds me of… a place.” The builder sighed.

X chuckled, “They remind me of a place too. Different colours though. Freakishly tall, screaming creatures from my nightmares are still here.”

“If it wasn’t empty, we could probably see for miles.” Grian sat beside him, a pair of feathery wings folded onto his back. Wings?! “I could watch the void all day.”

Xisuma abruptly scrambled up, reaching for his sword and rockets. This couldn’t be happening. He’d done so much to keep them out. Why was one here? The Watcher peered up at him, concern in its gaze. Fake. It’s fake. They lure you. It’s a trap. Run.

“What’s wrong, Ex-eye-zooma?” It asked. It mocked him. Being friendly and caring only to stab him in the back later. This was wrong. He made a mistake letting the Watcher join. It was going to kill him, or take him back. He had to get out of here. Blood pounded in his ears and ice flooded his veins. The silence of the End was suddenly suffocating. 

“No. You can’t be here.”

He ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sorry.
> 
> Fuck the Watchers.


	7. Would I lie to you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone is correct. Someone is not.

One moment Grian was watching Xisuma panic, utterly perplexed, and the next he was encased in violet light. When his vision cleared, the familiar landscapes of the End from just a moment ago were replaced with a room. It couldn’t exactly be called a room; everything was a stark while that seemed to stretch into infinity. No discernible walls, or ceiling, or anything at all, really. The only thing in the entire room was a familiar figure.

Tall and slender, the Watcher looked down upon him with their piercing gaze, glowing magenta eyes tearing him open as if to scrutinise his soul. The blankness seemed to solidify underneath them to make a sort of chair to lay upon, silken robes of Tyrrhenian purple billowing dramatically as their wings fluttered to settle on their back.

“We need to talk, Xelqua.”

* * *

  
“So what exactly are these guys then?” Doc asked, tinkering with the new arm that he had fastened just moments ago. The fingers curled inwards to form a rather rude gesture with his middle finger. He grinned – working perfectly.

Xisuma sighed and began reading through some code on a tablet he’d brought into the lab. “They call themselves the Watchers. Supposedly the ‘Guardians of the Multiverse’ but they mostly enjoy screwing everything up. Pompous and arrogant idiots drunk on power.”

* * *

  
Grian’s quick nod was all the Watcher needed to start explaining. “Ever since we were brought into existence, it has been our duty to protect the worlds. However, there are some who refuse our offers of aid. They make their own rules, governing their little bubbles incorrectly in ways that ruin the natural order. We strive for a perfect existence for all, which means that we stop the false kings.”

They gestured for him to sit next to them, so he did. Of course, Grian was much shorter and less intimidating, but the effort to be less terrifying was appreciated.

* * *

  
“It may have been given to them, or it might even be something they actually created, but they got hold of this… device. It has ridiculous amounts of power that warp reality effortlessly, if you know how to use it. The only problem is that they can’t use it properly. That’s why worlds are so less impressive than what we can make with terraforming, or even just a little bit of creativity; they’re too detached from humanity at this point to harness the true use of this thing. It has endless possibilities that they know can be tapped into, but they don’t know how. So they get other people to try and wield it.”

* * *

“Us Watchers: me, you and all the others. We want only the best for the multiverse. And I, personally, want the best for you.” The lips visible beneath the mask relaxed into a soft smile, eyes staring deep into Grian’s own. “I see you almost as my child, at this point, and I have loved watching you grow. Letting you go was necessary, however, to let you form your own opinions about the people that inhabit these plains. What do you think of them?”

* * *

  
X checked over the robotic arm once more, then hooked a port on the wrist to the tablet still in his grasp. “The Watchers are manipulative and have a hell of a superiority complex to go with it. Someone who thinks they’re always right will do anything for their goals, going so far as to kidnap random people to use the Generator. Usually children since they’re easy to convince. They take them from their homes, convince them to become a Watcher, and initiate them. After the kid does enough murder the other Watchers trust them enough to try the Generator.”

Doc craned his neck to peer at the contents of the tablet. After some confused reading, he gave up and just listened to his friend speak. It seemed like he needed to get this out of his system.

* * *

  
“They’re quite fun. We’ve done so much together! There was the game of tag, which I started. I can explain the rules if you’d li-“

The Watcher cut him off. “What do you notice is wrong with them? Anything at all?”

He paused, then replied, “Well, X is always too busy to join us, or his helmet is damaged. It’s almost like he can’t breathe the Overworld air. Redstone machines are always breaking and delaying reality with lag. Iskall’s eye sometimes shows him things I don’t think he really wants to see - it’s too detailed, giving him a headache at the best of times. Cleo is always withering away slightly since her body is dead and it really hurts her, but both healing and harming potions hurt her we can’t help.”

The list grows, with more worries and guilts that have no real fix. The Watcher sat silently throughout the rant, listening intently. When the frustrated builder fell silent, they offered a suggestion.

“If we were in charge, so many of those problems could go away. All of them, in fact. We could fix all of the worlds. Nobody else would have to suffer. Peace and order for all.”

For Grian, it was now a toss up between letting his new friends live on in pain, or tone down the pranking a bit to keep the Watchers happy. An obvious decision. “So I just have to convince X to step down?”

“If possible, we would like you to bring him to us. We know him personally and would like a… conversation.”

* * *

Satisfied with the explanation, Xisuma fell silent, prompting Doc to ask some more questions. “I take it they haven’t managed to do whatever they were planning to the worlds. Why not?”

“As I said, the Watchers are too detached from normal emotions. These people they convince to join them are no longer human, because a sane person would never join. They don’t look human, don’t sound human, don’t act human. It might even be how the Watchers came to exist in the first place. Someone so far removed from the best interests of the world and mutated by power into something different.”

“You and Grian are part of this because..?”

“I escaped. He didn’t.” The man ran his hands through his hair. “And I don’t know how much humanity is still left in the kid, being crushed slowly.”

* * *

The Watcher’s pale mask blended into the void behind them, giving the impression of a hollow space with nothing but eerily glowing eyes. “Our time is nearly up I fear, Xelqua. I hope that we can meet again, when this world is gone, and rule with the rest. Like a family?”

“Yeah. One day you’re gonna let me booby trap the gardens. Families need some excitement, after all.”

The Watcher chuckled, a low, melodic sound. “You can barely remember our names, how are you ever going to remember where you put the pranks?”

“That’s because you never tell me your names, you spoon.” Grian teased.

The Watcher frowned, “I am no spoon, my face is not concave. Is that a threat?”

“Nononono! It’s a joke.” He laughed. “Where’s your sense of humour?”

“I laughed, did I not? Sekhmet does not laugh without reason.” The Watcher still looked a little annoyed, but it’s hard to tell.

“Aha! It only took me over a year, but I finally got your name. Do I get a gender from you too?”

“No.”

* * *

“Honestly, there might even still be some morals left in the Watchers, but they sure as hell showed me none! Apparently refusing to blow up a planet makes you ‘weak’ and ‘useless’ so they chop off your wings and disown you. Good times, eh?” X yelled to nobody in particular, furiously pacing around the lab. Doc just watched in silence, not really knowing how to diffuse the situation. Didn’t mean he couldn’t give it a shot, though.

“So what are they going to do now? Is this a war or a power struggle? If we know what’s going on then we can prepare.”

“This is a joke to them. Hermitcraft is just a stepping stone in retrieving their precious experiment, which is just a small piece in their grand plan to rule everything. We’re nothing but pawns, it doesn’t matter to them.”

“Which means that we have nothing to worry about, right?”

“We have a _lot_ to worry about, Doc. Best scenario we convince the Watchers to leave us alone. Worst case scenario Hermitcraft gets erased, all of us with it.”

“So we can start small. Try and rescue Grian, then focus on getting those bastards away from our home.”

X dropped back into a chair, exhausted. “You’re right. Sorry about… this,” he gestured vaguely to his whole body, “ but it’s a touchy subject.”

“It’s cool man. Stuff sucks, but we have a plan now. Convince him and only use violence if it gets serious.”

* * *

“Back onto the subject at hand, we are trusting you to fix this world. We will be Watching, as always, so do not fear. Your task is simple and achievable. Use whatever means you think are necessary, which includes violence. We need this world back.”

“It’s the best thing for everyone.” Grian gave a thumbs up, determined

Sekhmet nodded approvingly, “Alas, my time is up here. Good luck.”  
  


In the same purple mists that brought him here, the Watcher disappeared. It was just him now, alone in an empty space. An empty space with a door, apparently. It seemed that the infinity room, as he had mentally dubbed it, was just underneath his megabase. Convenient.

He stepped out into the world with newfound purpose. A buzz on his communicator alerted him to a new series of messages.

God: Grian.

God: Meet me at the Admin Cave.

God: We both know why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still messing around with different styles. Was this too confusing?


	8. Deal with it tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hatred drives people apart, but love can bring people together.

Doc was torn now. On the one hand, he wanted nothing more than to support and aid his dear friend in battling his past. However, he couldn’t just stand by as the newest hermit was manipulated into something his most certainly wasn’t. The rational part of him was screaming at him to eliminate the threat with robotic precision but his heart wasn’t ready to say who the threat really was. A kid, for that is what Grian seemed to be, had no place on a battlefield (and the consequences for being on the losing side would be disastrous).

So when the aforementioned builder descended the stairs into the ‘coding room’ of the base, he didn’t know if he should have been hostile or passive. He chose friendly.

“Is that… Mumbo’s suit? If I knew we were dragging you away from some quality time with him we wouldn’t have insisted.” He teased.

Grian laughed, surprisingly light considering the situation, and quickly dissuaded Doc’s theories, “Nonononono! I just borrowed one of his because I don’t have a formal suit in my wardrobe. Well, I do, but it’s tailored for wings and I don’t really want giant holes on the back when I’m trying to be a suave businessman. This one is a bit big though. Not too wide but kinda... long.” The jacket almost looked like a greatcoat on his small frame, sleeves flopping wildly with his gerstures.

However silly it made him look, it was undeniably formal. Now Doc felt underdressed with only a tattered lab coat and jeans. Did robotic parts count as clothing?

Doc curiously asked, “So what exactly are these wings that Xisuma mentioned? And where did they go?”

“Oh, I just thought that X wouldn’t want to see them. He freaked out pretty badly the last time and I don’t wanna make him upset. It’s annoying but I managed without them before and I can do it again.” He turned his gaze towards the floor, fiddling with the tie around his neck. “Its better that I’m uncomfortable this time. We can take it in turns, or something.”

“Idiot,” he sighed, “since you’re going to be self-sacrificing do you at least want a seat?” He gestured to the plethora of cushions, eventually opting to throw a pillow at Grian to prove his point. It smacked him in the chest, and he swiftly chucked it back at a Doc, who dodged and erected a shield of beanbags. It soon turned into a great pillow fight. The pair created their own forts at opposite ends of the room, one focused on practicality and the other on aesthetic and warmth.

Xisuma watched the chaos unfold from the sidelines, silently chucking to himself. As Doc pinned his opponent to the floor, he crept up behind with a pillow in hand. The man cheered his victory, right before X whacked him upside the head in a shower of feathers and claimed the win for himself. “Sneak attack!”

“Oh great ninja of the voids, it appears that your reign of terror has come to an end.” Grian solemnly shook his head from his position underneath Doc, though the cheeky grin ruined the image, and pulled Xisuma’s legs out from under him. The man fell with a thump onto the remains of a fort and the trio lay on the floor breathless.

“Hey Iron Man, you’re really heavy.” Grian complained between giggles, pushing Doc away. The cyborg dramatically waved his arms in the air.

“I’ve been betrayed by my very own cushion! G-man how could you?” He rolled over to where Xisuma was draped. “Dearest admin, you would never be so cruel as to shove me, so I live over on this side now.”

“Nope. You almost broke my visor by waving around the new arm in my face. You’re lucky I left the helmet in the lab and it’s not smashed to bits by a pillow.” He shoved Doc back towards Grian. “Property damaging hermits don’t get hugs.”

It became a very odd game of ping-pong. At one point X fell asleep and a snickering Doc became his blanket.

“I win.” He grinned.

Grian raised an eyebrow, “That’s not how ping-pong works. I win.”

“Says the person who can’t remember anything. You forgot why you came here, so who’s to say you didn’t forget the rules of the game.”

“…I remembered.” Grian hesitantly replied. “It was a logical ruse!”

“Just go to sleep. You need lots of rest to grow up big and tall.” Doc teased.

With a pout, Grian crossed his arms, “Shut up, you skyscraper.”

“I don’t take orders from children.” He reasoned.

“Well you’re not exactly threatening, so I have no reason to listen to you.”

“I’m very scary to little boys. Are you not afraid of the big, bad creeper man?” Doc did his best to seem intimidating. It didn’t work.

Grian gave his friend a flat, unimpressed look, “You’re practically cuddling X.”

“Join the puppy pile!” He clambered off of Xisuma to drag Grian over. “We can sort the existential crisis in the morning.”

“…Okay.”

* * *

Doc wanted the best for his friends. He wanted nothing more than to free them of their pasts and help them find the happiness that he’d found safe with them. Nothing would ever be perfect, but today was a start. Tomorrow they could all deal with disagreements, vengeful gods, and painful memories and he was prepared to fight with them. However, now was a time to love, to have fun, and to prove to the Watchers that the Hermits would not be torn apart by anything.

He loved his family with all his heart, metal or not, and he refused to lose the newest member.

…Though X was stealing all the blankets, so maybe he could be left to the wolves. Bastard, it’s cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some fluff. Platonic fluff, you heathens - I’m not one to ship real people. But you do you.


	9. Sweet Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleep is weird and so are people.

People forgot their dreams. That’s what happened. The mind drifted off into other dimensions for adventures, uncaring for the trivial things like safety and comfort and how awful it is when you have deja-vu for some random reason with no recollection of the situation ever happening but it’s a horrible situation to be in that you would have definitely remembered happening before. It sucked.

Upon remembering a dream, the shapes and colours swirled together into a blend of nonsense that could rarely be coalesced into a coherent picture, and even then it was often vague and fuzzy. The lack of detail was made up for by a vast, deep ocean of feelings that soaked through dimensional barriers into the land of consciousness. One might surf high into the sky in an exhilarating leap, waves of anticipated excitement carrying them though the night to safely cascade down into the warm waters of contentment. To drift ashore and gently wash awake with a content drowsiness that lulled the dozing person into that sleepy state of comfort.

Obviously, not all emotions were good ones. A riptide of terror could grip the helpless victim in a crushing, suffocating vice that pulled them deep below the surface, never to see the sun again. Shadowy abominations were the only company so far from the sun’s protection, and they wanted nothing more than to feast, to rip and tear and bite and devour their prey.

Even if the person escaped, the unspeakable horrors followed them back to the real world as shadows on the wall, or a wraith out the corner of their eye. Nobody could truly explain what they sensed, couldn’t see the demons crawling on the ceiling above, didn’t hear the deranged giggles echoing throughout the realms. But he saw them all.

You see, Xisumavoid had a different connection to these worlds. He had always found it laughably simple to peer into the abyss, or talk to things that nobody else saw. Things that were far, far away. As someone not born of the light, he wasn’t tethered to it in the same way others were. The realm of the mind was like a library to him: sections and shelves neatly labelled, stocked with all the knowledge he had accumulated, and a wall of windows peered into other people’s libraries. His library was easy to navigate, at least. Or he had a very detailed map. 

He tried to leave others their privacy. It was a little rude to hack someone’s brain and borrow their prank ideas, after all, and more than once he’d seen things in other peoples’ heads that he would have rather… not known existed. While he tried his best to stick in a single dimension and a single brain (namely, his own) sometimes bits and pieces would leak through, like someone getting lazy and just putting their books into the nearest library instead of checking. His suit definitely helped filter out the worst ones. Emotions were a big problem, and if he wasn’t so swamped with running the server his job would probably be the therapist. Seriously, the Hermits had issues. His problems, on the other hand, were irrelevant (even if said problems whispered sweet death threats in his ear on Thursdays).

What did matter was that he was drowning in blankets. It was cozy, sleeping with the companionship of two friends. It was also slightly terrifying. 

People projected their emotions a lot more in their sleep, as if to anchor themselves through sheer force of will alone as they slipped out of reality into what they couldn’t control.

Doc didn’t dream, ever. He just sort of… shut down at night. It was quite soothing for Xisuma to have company without a barrage of foreign ideas hammering into his skull every second, at least at night. Doc certainly still had a functioning mind regardless of his nightly oddities. It was honestly impossible to know how much of the cyborg was robot, how much was human, and how much was a hybridised mess. They didn’t even try to figure it out anymore. His brain was probably a neurologist’s idea of heaven, but thankfully there weren’t any people trying to dissect him on Hermitcraft. 

Xisuma had a vague idea of what to expect from Grian when the admin took a cursory glance at his new friend’s psyche. He expected the hazy smoke of confusion and indecision, perhaps a flickering flame of furious injustice. The bitter ash of loss soothed by the twisted high from a toxic ‘family’ giving praise for all the wrong things. He expected to feel the Watchers’ influence everywhere. He expected to feel anything at all.

It was so, so empty, with an undercurrent of grief.

Grian was definitely there, wherever there was, but he wasn’t doing anything, other than stewing in his mourning, by the looks of things. Now concerned, Xisuma contorted space around him to propel his consciousness into whichever universe his friend had landed in.

He could at least try to help.

* * *

The world around X warped and shifted before it spat him out into a silvery forest, a cold, unearthly place. The soothing orangey-reds of autumn leaves had been replaced by a world of greys, ghostly remnants of a world once bursting with life. Cold earth felt like hard rock underfoot, a stony floor to the inescapable cave of this empty land. There were ancient ruins all around that would have once been grand structures of awe-inspiring beauty that now lay wrecked and smothered in dead forest. A bitter sun lay on an empty sky, a stark reminder of what was missing, a broken promise of better times ahead. 

Everything was eerily still: metallic trees stood solemnly in their place, the wind no longer dancing through their leaves, and the world was blanketed in a suffocating silence reminiscent of a funeral. It was as if the life had been drained to leave behind mere husks, doomed to live out their tragic existence a mere shadow of what they used to be. An empty shell. A land without life.

Though apparently someone was here, as their voice called out a greeting, “Hi there.” 

Xisuma swivelled around at a dizzying speed, eyes darting about the colourless foliage in search of the other, presumably Grian. 

A figure waved from his position perched on a stump. It was Grian, undeniably so, but he was completely devoid of all colour. Overlapping shades of slate-grey made his normally soft demeanour appear as if carved from stone: powerful yet fragile, expressive yet nothing more than a chiselled mask. It was unnerving.

Xisuma usually left people their privacy. He never went into people’s minds and hopefully never would, but even with his limited experience of other consciousnesses this didn’t look right at all. So, naturally, he asked about it, “Are you… okay? Looking a bit ghosty there.”

“This is fine. I think? Apart from the whole ‘dead universe’ thing which is kind of annoying.” Grian shrugged. “We leave bits of ourselves behind when we leave and I guess I just keep coming back? It’s all very poetic. And stupid.”

“So is this where you lived before?” 

“What’s left of it. What I can reconstruct.” He smiled. It looked more like a grimace, “Though I don’t know why I bother when this will all be forgotten in the morning.”

Forgotten. So that means that nothing Xisuma does here will be remembered. He could do anything and face no consequence.

This was his chance to let out all his resentment onto a Watcher, one of the abominations who acted so despicably. He could tackle his enemy to the floor and punch it over and over and over until his knuckles were bruised and his foe bleeding out. He could batter the Watcher with a rock until it’s skull caved in. He could strangle it, or kick it, or snap it’s limbs like a pencil. Hell, he could even bite it. He could tear off its wings and scream abuse into its ears for hours. Everything the Watchers did to him replayed onto this one. Revenge was ever so sweet.

Grian gave his companion a worried glance. “M-maybe you should sit down. I don’t like the look on your face.”

Then again, this wasn’t a Watcher. This was just Grian, an innocent ripped from those he loved and forced into a life he didn’t want, thoughts manipulated and morals twisted for the gains of his exploiters. Honestly it was sickening to think X had even entertained the idea of hurting him. The Watchers had given their precious experiment a taste of freedom once more and it was Xisuma’s duty to make sure it wasn’t torn from him again, megalomaniacal gods be damned. Of course, this was an impossible task.

“Sorry, sorry Grian. I just… I just don’t get it. There are a million planets and a trillion people all across dimensions, yet it happens to us.” He dropped onto the frozen earth and buried his face in his hands. “I thought it was over, y’know? Escape and never see the bastards again, but noooo. They just keep trying. Again and again until the end of time itself, we can count on the Great and Glorious Watchers to keep kidnapping children.”

Grian frowned. “When they saved me, they said it was necessary or else Evo would die. It’s been deleted anyway. I get that you hate them, but they’ve given me no reason to think they would lie to me. They wouldn’t do that, right?”

“Face it, they’re not as great as you think. Removing all sentimental attachments, or whatever, so that the new initiant doesn’t have anything to go back to.” 

“You say this like there were a lot of people… before me. Like you saw this happen.” He peeled at the bark on his stump absentmindedly.

“They kept me around for quite a while. There isn’t a single Watcher who wasn’t an ordinary person at one point.” Xisuma gave a melancholy smile to his friend. “I miss them.”

Grian proposed an idea,”Tell me about them. Actually, just show me!”

“What?” X looked bemused.

“My mind is here already, so just do some weird admin magic and take a trip down memory lane.” He grinned, jumping up from his seat.

“…Okay, you weirdo. Bear in mind I’ve never done this before and It’ll be messy. If you wanted things to be in order sorry to burst your bubble.” Xisuma began his ritual thingy, but Grian was more interested in dissolving the plain they were already on, if the strange shadow-realm could even be called a plain. Dreams weren’t something thought up by your brain, they were you ending up somewhere else for no apparent reason. The worlds that the mind liked to visit were very different from an actual mind and Grian didn’t want to be a distraction when it could quite possibly get them both killed. It’s hard to be a menace to society if you’re dead. 

X let out a triumphant shout, “Aha! I think it’s working? Only one way to find out.”

The grey world dissipated at the pair vanished from sight with a resounding POP, leaving behind an empty void.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started with no real plot line, I was just doing whatever I wanted. Now I’m thinking and I don’t like it.


	10. Victims of Circumstance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t anyone’s fault. The Watchers were never meant to be created.

The pair materialised in a familiar garden, pristine in its ethereal beauty. A river encircled the haven, sunlight glistening off its glassy surface as it lazily swirled round and round in an infinite loop, no start or end in sight. Inside the circle, a blanket of emerald grass swept across the flat expanse. The slabs set into the ground were accentuated by arches and columns of pure marble, adorned with crowns of velvety roses that blossomed a brilliant vermillion. 

Knelt on the ground were two figures clad in silken robes, a young girl and a man, presumably Xisuma’s past self. Grian looked from the memory to the real X and back again, seeing no differences at all, apart from the trademark Watcher wings on X. Not on the girl though. That was odd.

The girl giggled as she reached up the pillar to grasp a rose. Suddenly she squeaked and pulled her hand back, shooting the flower a dirty look. 

“Careful,” the younger Xisuma told her as he gently examined her hand for cuts, “they have thorns.”

The girl’s face was determined, “I wanna make a flower crown. Do we have any more kinds?”

“I can get us a lily. But I don’t think there’s enough space on my hand for an entire crown.” 

“That’s silly, flowers grow on the groun-“ she stopped. From Xisuma’s palms emerged a small green stem that reached taller and taller, sprouting leaves and eventually a pearly bloom. The hands it grew upon lowered to the grass, then phased through the ground completely and deposited the roots within the soil where they belonged. 

Xisuma, the memory, clapped his now flower-free hands enthusiastically, “Right! Do you remember the lessons? We’re going to try growing more of them to cover the garden by speeding up their time, so focus on the seeds really hard.”

And with that the flower’s seeds, which had been maturing throughout the conversation, burst off the plant in a shower of purple sparkles to land all throughout the garden.

She grinned and dropped down onto her stomach, pressing her face right against the petals to scrutinise them. Apparently the flower had been deemed satisfactory by her standards, as she turned her attention to a spot on the grass. Her brow furrowed in concentration, her cerulean eyes gleamed violet, and a new lily blossomed beneath her gaze. 

The duo worked diligently, with a generous amount of fooling around, to fill the empty grass with more life than ever before, while the invisible onlookers observed from the centre of the garden, sat upon the stone steps.

Grian turned to his friend with a smile, “You’re adorable together. What’s her name?”

“Lily, funnily enough.” He chuckled. “I thought it made sense to grow her namesake, especially since she loved that garden more than anything.”

Lily and the memory of Xisuma picked their favourite flowers from the huge selection and together weaved them into intricate crowns, the older helping the younger create and wear her prize with a gentle patience. Eventually, Xisuma picked up the girl and hoisted her onto his shoulders so she could place his crown where it belonged, at which point they left to one of the bridges over the river.

The pair set off down the stony pathway and through the field of flowers. They passed arches and columns, now adorned with a second type of bloom, crossed the river that glittered with the oranges of the setting sun, and their laughter echoed through the quiet serenity.

“I miss her.”

* * *

A new scene, atop the highest tower in the Palace of Stars. The astronomy tower was taller than anything else, with an observation deck that gave a stunning view of everything, all of existence visible as an endless sky.

The midnight heavens were a beautiful painting of the multiverse, shimmering galaxies that swirled and shone, an infinite kaleidoscope of every colour imaginable. It was a vast, all-encompassing dance of organised chaos, glittering oranges and reds and greens and blues and golds and purples spanning across the void, an unfathomably deep abyss that was all but invisible behind the triumphant shouts of ‘We bested the darkness, and it’s our job to shine brighter than it can smother.’

Down below was a view of a different kind of beauty to the infinity above. Huge islands floated in the air, asteroids frozen still and given life. A lively river stretched between the islands, connecting them as it leapt and corkscrewed and dropped in gravity-defying madness. 

Each surrounding island felt like it’s own unique paradise, whether they were draped in blankets of untouched snow or glowing with lakes of bubbling lava. They clustered around the largest island, a landscape of impossibly tall pines that climbed alongside the dizzying heights of the marble palace. 

Perched precariously on the edge of the platform sat a figure, unaware of his silent visitors. His gaze was turned upwards, in awe of the vast expanse of stars that waved from up above, while his feet dangled off into the sky as a wind whipped around, billowing his cloak and ruffling his hair. 

“Hey Grian?” Xisuma asked.

“Yeah.” Was the absentminded response, clearly distracted by the view up above.

He paused to think, then spoke, “Could any single race, let along a solitary person, even hope to control this? It’s so massive that it would be impossible.”

Grian stayed silent.

“More stars than we have the words to communicate. Planets that hold life and the hopes and dreams of trillions all striving for discovery, for love, for meaning that they might never find, that might not even exist. It’s infinite and impossible but so intimate at the same time.”

A second figure, a girl, joined the boy from before, wrapping an arm around him as she dropped down beside, a comforting embrace as they both looked heavenward. 

The boy spoke to her, unable to tear his eyes from the scene, “There’s so much up there, isn’t there? It all has some purpose but I don’t think I know what that purpose is. I’ll find out one day and show you everything as it’s meant to be.” 

“The perfect date.” The girl laughed. “But it’s so perfect as it is, so beautiful. Something so huge doesn’t need a purpose it’s just kinda… there. We just give it a meaning and I’m cool with that. I’ve found my purpose but it’s not the same purpose everyone has.” She gazes at him, adoration clear. “You’ve made up a purpose – finding a purpose!”

He frowned, “But it’s so amazing that there must be a reason. It can’t just exist for the sake of it! Is the purpose to reproduce, like biology says to? Or is the purpose to help others, or to find happiness? Because love must be a factor somewhere, or I wouldn’t feel like… like this for you.”

They smiled and leaned in for a kiss, only to be interrupted by footsteps and the opening of a wooden door.

“C’mon lovebirds, you can’t just play hide and seek when you don’t want to study.” Another Xisuma teased from the doorway.

“Daaaaaad~” the pair chorused, then looked at each other before bursting into laughter, of which the older man soon joined in.

Once they calmed down he gestured for them to follow him, and snickered, “It’s not incest since technically you’re both adopted, but no holding hands until marriage.”

The trio disappeared down into the tower, the door swinging shut to muffle their conversation. Grian and the current Xisuma were left with only each other and window to infinity.

“Stella and Cosmo. Good kids.” X smiled, bittersweet.

Grian spoke for the first time since their arrival on the tower, “I wish I could’ve met them.”

* * *

  
The third location was an empty banquet hall. A long mahogany table took up a large portion of the thin room, two dozen ornate chairs tucked neatly in place. In the corner stood a grand piano, the same warm brown as the ornaments and detailed carvings all around. Xisuma, obviously the memory, sat upon the stool with a young boy on his lap.

“There are black keys and white keys, which are pressed to make different sounds. A, B, C, D, E, F, and G are the white ones. Wanna learn a little song?” X guided the boy’s fingers to each key as he named them, and his offer was met with an enthusiastic cheer.

The onlookers watched the sweet scene before them. Grian was trying to follow along with the lesson (even mimicking the movements), while Xisuma was just happy to relive the moment. 

The world cut to static.

Thankfully, they returned swiftly after a bout of cursing from the admin. Except it seemed that quite a lot of time had passed, as the little kid from before had been replaced by a young man, perhaps fifteen or so, sat in the same seat while Xisuma stood to the side, leaning on the piano.

“Pops I told you that damages it! I can’t use anything psychic while performing if you’re blocking the output.” The boy whined, but his grin betrayed his fondness.

‘Pops’ didn’t move, instead miming piano keys. “You said you’d finished the super secret piece? Are there lyrics?”  
  
He nodded, but then blushed and ducked his head. “You know I can’t really sing, but there’s still lyrics for it if I could convince someone else to in the future.”

“It’ll be amazing, trust me. Whenever you’re ready then. Take it away Terry!”

It began soft yet swift, somber with an almost desperate speed, as if someone were crying out for an answer. It was melancholic at some parts, frantic at others. Deeper notes rang out while the gentle tinkle combined to unite into a melodious representation of the darker, more lonely emotions that still sounded ever so beautiful. It was gorgeous and by the end everyone, memory or otherwise, was blinking back tears.

It came to a close with a delicate chord, an elegantly somber finish. The memory Xisuma clapped vigorously and Terry stood up quickly, shoving the stool behind him to grapple his father-figure into a crushing hug. “Thank you so much.” He murmured into X’s shoulder. “For everything.”

“I love you.” The memory spoke in unison with the real Xisuma.

* * *

The world around the pair glitched and jumped between moments erratically. One minute they were seeing the children and the next it was a Watcher.  
  
They saw Stella change from carefree to nihilistic and depressed, using the Generator to rip apart galaxies and destroy everything. Nothing mattered, after all, so why bother leaving empty stars and empty planets, lifeless forever? She was doing people a favour, if anything. Less clutter.

They saw Cosmo’s dreams of a bigger meaning turn to creating one, as his lover once suggested. He forced his experiments onto innocent people, trying desperately to find a reason or to feel anything at all, having become so numb to what brought joy and happiness to him so long ago. Broken worlds and fractured people. Things that shouldn’t have been created.

They saw Lily as she gained access to all of time and space, and gained a wisdom too much for her to bear. She became apathetic to all there was and sought an end to her infinite sight, even going to far as to rip out her own eyes to stop seeing. It didn’t work. She just wanted it to end.

They saw Terry inside the minds of everything. He had control of emotions far beyond what he was capable of handling, witness to so much suffering and agony and horror it drove him to madness. No single person should have to be abused or murdered or hurt, let alone feel the pain of every single victim all at once. He put people out of their misery as painlessly as he knew how.

They are the Watchers, who saw too much. Now they must pay the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this one’s cheerful isn’t it? This seems to be moving further and further from Hermitcraft and more towards weird existential crisis fantasy. It will go back to normal stuff eventually.
> 
> From now on I’m going to try at least being somewhat serious in the comments. No promises, unfortunately, but I have no idea what I’m doing. Feel free to insult me!
> 
> Terry’s song https://youtu.be/tCve9rbITgQ
> 
> Youth by Daughter.


	11. Reality and Illusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything exists in some capacity. Some of us are ignorant, but there are things we know, deep down, but refuse to acknowledge.

Moirai was rather fond of her garden despite not being able to see it. The grass was buried under a sea of blossoming lilies and the weathered pathway littered with cracks that dug into her bare feet. The air was pleasantly cool against her skin, a soft breeze ruffling her wings, filled with the scent of flowers in bloom. Silence was an ever-present companion, encompassing all in a serene quiet that almost muffled the thoughts. 

She saw all there was to see. People lived and died, empires rose and fell, planets formed then burned, stars flickered out like candles. The universe changed irreversibly for all eternity, every moment relinquishing more and more to the suffocating void. The symphony of chaos was only silent in that abyss, though it was incapable of granting her the oblivion she so desperately sought.

A rose lowered itself from its coil around a pillar for her to gently grasp. She smiled at the velvety texture of the petals and willed it to grow, a strange serpent that crawled up her arm, then round her neck. Leaves spread across the vine to form a sleeve and necklace of greenery. 

Her garden was enough for now.

Unbeknownst to her, Eros sighed. He hoped that she never realised the garden had been reduced to nothing more than an illusion, a fabrication of his own design maintained by the Generator. Maybe one day he would simply make it go down and watch the inevitable destruction, but he refused to allow genocide on such a monumental scale. It was best to keep time in order.

* * *

Xisuma watched, silently amused, from a stump as Grian climbed a silver tree. The forest was weird, sure, but at least it was good fun. A head of monochrome hair peeked out from the leaves and they shared a smile. Grian jumped off the branch in what he probably assumed was a graceful leap: that is, flopping off the edge and landing in a heap on the dirt. He rolled over onto his back and stared blankly into space. 

“I could swear there were more than four Watchers,” Grian pondered, “hell, the dining table is made for at least twenty.”

Xisuma walked over to lightly prod his friend in the stomach with his boot. “Magic, remember? Terry was good with emotions already, so I helped him t-.”

"To make illusions of more people to seem like more of a threat! That’s smart, but you can give them separate names and faces without making it weird. Why masks?"

“His illusions look kinda… off. Almost like puppets. If you can see their eyes it’s clear something’s wrong, not to mention the plot holes and general forgetting of the names he gave the fakes. I always did tell him to get a plausible backstory and logic when crafting a scene but he always let the feelings motivate the narrative just a little too much.” X rolled his eyes.

“Well I guess that explains the masks and secrecy. The mysterious vibe.”

He chuckled, “Yeah.”

They paused, simply enjoying the peace to reminisce about times long passed. A grey sun on a grey sky, grey water and grey trees on a grey planet with a grey citizen. The visitor gave a needed burst of colour to the bleak surroundings, green suit almost mocking what nature lacked. 

Grian closed his eyes as he lay on the ground. His voice, though quiet, rang out in the dead silence, “I won’t remember this. Well, not the me where you’re from anyway.”

“Ah. Shit.” Xisuma’s heart plummeted.

He hastily backtracked. “B-but I’ll still be here! We can talk or whatever. This was nice. We can share again, I can show my memories.”

The attempt to cheer him up was appreciated, though unsuccessful. “I don’t suppose you know how to reunite with your real body or something like that?” 

“If this place is destroyed properly the I’ll have nowhere else to go but to alive Grian. I don’t want that to happen though. I’d lose Evo properly.”

It was a toss-up between the memory of the past and the wishes of the present. In Xisuma’s opinion, destruction was what got everyone into the whole Watcher Problem in the first place and more destruction would only make it worse. This world was precious to Grian.

“I’ll see you tonight then?”

“Not like I’m going anywhere.” As if to emphasise his point, he waved his arms limply from his position sprawled across the ground. “Look at me, going places.”

“Don’t sass me, I’m you’re elder.” Xisuma crossed his arms in mock anger.

Grian smirked. “You’re definitely old.”

“That’s it, I’m leaving you ungrateful youth! Bye bye Grian.” He laughed as his vision blurred and the world shifted. 

* * *

He awoke to Doc fruitlessly trying to pull some blankets from his grasp. “How have you got six blankets _at once_? You’re still asleep!”


	12. Nether Nonsense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Science and magic create chaos, and a quest to save some villagers from their unfortunate trip to the nether.

When Doc finally decided to get out of the bed (nest?) it was nearly midday. Xisuma was a busy man and obviously had no time to sleep in, and the hyperactive mess known as Grian couldn’t stay in one place long enough to get a solid eight hours. The cyborg stumbled into the Admin Cave’s workshop to mess with some tech, only to see Grian breaking every lab safety rule possible. It was actually kind of impressive, if he was honest. It certainly woke him up.

The gremlin had commandeered a blowtorch from the cupboard and had apparently decided to roast marshmallows with it. Doc watched in a mixture of curiosity and horror as Grian suspended the sweet in a magenta glow in the centre of the room and set it ablaze, then giggled madly at the carnage that followed. The bar lights on the ceiling, one of which was only hanging on by a single red wire, flickered erratically. From a corner, bottles frothed and spat from their slightly askew perch on the brewing stand and then dumped themselves into the plugged sink. A slab of rotten flesh materialised on the counter and was expertly sliced by seemingly nothing before getting dropped into the sink abomination with a _plop._

The room smelt of burned marshmallows and sulphur, and it was just a little too warm for comfort. Sure, Doc was open to mad experiments as long as they didn’t involve any test subjects (and for good reason), but it looked like Grain was going to drink the potion and that probably wouldn’t end well.

How do you stop someone from doing something stupid, if they are currently in the middle of said stupid act?

“You could use your magic to revolutionise our society, to do things we only dream of, to launch our technology into the realms of impossibility, yet you choose to blow up my workshop?” Doc announced his presence in the only correct way – sarcasm.

The mutilated marshmallow shot towards Doc. Grian gave him a thumbs as he rummaged through the drawers. “Absolutely!”

He ducked below the gooey projectile and stood in front of the ‘potion’ to block Grain’s access to it, “What can you do with that magic anyway?”

The younger hermit gave up on his search through the mess of a lab to sit at a workbench and start explaining, leaving his experiment to simmer (probably not the best idea). “Basically anything. You’ve seen Scar’s wizard magic, right?”

Doc nodded, “He doesn’t really see himself as a wizard anymore but still shows it off now and again.”

“Watcher magic is… different.” Grian drummed his fingers against the metal table, the sound loud in the relative quiet. “Think of wizardry like maths. Everything is precise and just makes sense. With the right equation you can engineer a spell or rune to suit every situation that works as calculated every time. Very structured. It’s incredibly good at what it does and people like Scar, who are so good at it, are guaranteed geniuses. We’re all jealous of him.”

He paused, thinking of a good comparison, then continued, “Watcher magic is like… art! Maybe music? It’s less about solving a puzzle and more about putting paint on a canvas. Once you’ve learnt to compose anything is possible. Of course this makes it chaotic and unpredictable but that’s the fun of it!”

Throughout the rant, Doc had put out the flaming marshmallow, pulled out some blueprints for Iskall’s eye, and safely disposed of the various other safety hazards dotted about, though he did bottle a sample of the sink sludge. He dragged a chair beside Grian’s and spread the papers in front of them.

He grinned. “If you can do anything with your magi-“

“Theoretically.” Grian cut him off.

“Yeah, yeah. If you can _theoretically_ do anything, can you mess with life and shit? Cos there’s no way the undead just appear every night without magical crap.” Mobs were bullshit, the hermits had collectively decided.

“Of course I can!” Grian exclaimed. “Back in the Palace it’s, like, the most important thing. Nobody dies of old age because it’s surprisingly easy to mess with body’s ageing mechanics, but not ageing and not dying are very different.”

“We can discuss your family’s murderous tendencies later. What I wanna know is if you can make biotech a little more… alive?” Admittedly Doc was more interested in a fully functional arm and eye for himself but Iskall would definitely appreciate an upgrade. Selflessness, or something like that.

“Only one way to find out.” He smirked. “Let’s hope X doesn’t kick us out for being a safety hazard.”

* * *

Xisuma had spent his entire morning scrolling through code. Without the Generator at his disposal to modify and fix the world as he wished, he was stuck converting existence into a readable script that could be edited through very specific commands. In shielding Hermitcraft from the Watcher’s influence as much as possible, it also cut them off from the Generator’s updates and bug fixes. It left him to deal with an entire world without the tools specifically designed to deal with reality-warping, and he couldn’t exactly make more.

Long story short, it sucked.

Recently, the stronghold had become a war zone and the nether more hellish than usual. Things that shouldn’t have made their way through the portals had decided to forgo logic entirely and cross the barriers between plains. Ghasts floated through the voids of the end, weightless pale squids that were more than happy to burn a hole through your elytra. A few dozen villagers had been especially upset to find themselves inside a nether fortress, distress evident despite the language barrier, and had stubbornly refused to leave the relative safety of the building to find a portal without an escort. Honestly he couldn’t blame them – imagine being defenceless and unarmed above a lava lake without arms to catch you if you fell.

With how the portals had been acting up, the safest option was to use the already existing gateways the return the villagers back home, lest they contact all their brethren and leave the hermits with no access to trading. Capitalism was a decent motivation for saving people, it seemed.

An illusion-copy of Xisuma had been trying to negotiate with the villagers for roughly two hours by that point. The use of illusions was very helpful when one didn’t feel like travelling for miles and miles but if anyone wished to harm the corporeal body left behind it wouldn’t have been hard. After a brief demonstration of fire resistance potions the group reluctantly agreed to a journey through the flames of hell. Negotiations would have been so much easier if they spoke the same language, but villagers mostly communicated through an incomprehensible series of ‘hrmm’ noises and sign language didn’t exactly work without hands.

Whatever had been screwing up the portals was mostly fixed so at this point all he needed to do was relocate the displaced creatures. Mobs were inconvenient at the best of times but usually they didn’t appear in the wrong realms. He was most certainly not prepared to guide a small town through the nether unaided.

An explosion sounded from the workshop. Xisuma knew just who to ask for help.

* * *

“C’mon Mr Nose, it’s perfectly safe!” Grian motioned for the villager to cross a hastily constructed bridge over the lava lake bubbling beneath them. It really wasn’t a bridge, more a pile of netherrack rubble magically suspended in a horrifyingly unstable tightrope.

The newly dubbed Mr Nose looked from the gravity-defying pathway to the sea of magma, then to the flickering flame in Grian’s hair, and turned right back round with a huff.

After much messing around, they had decided to take the long route: following the steep cliffs and picking their way across valleys carefully until they reached the portal. It was infinitely slower than simply giving everyone an elytra (which wouldn’t work _at all_ ) or letting them find their own way back, but far less likely to end in any untimely deaths. Their party of following villagers seemed much happier not plunging into the depths of hell by trying Grian’s ‘pathway’ despite how much he tried to charm them.

Doc laughed. “Are you trying to kill the poor guys? I wouldn’t trust that thing and I actually know that there’s magic involved.”

“To be honest,” Xisuma chimed in, “There’s no way the villager hadn’t guessed it was levitating. Just look at that thing and tell me there’s physics involved.”

“Ha! Told you it was a bad idea!” Doc stuck out his tongue at Grian. In response, Grian smacked the cyborg with his wing then took off to the skies before the other could retaliate. A well-aimed ghast fireball forced him to duck and watch it sail over his head to reach Doc. Of course, fireballs can be redirected and it hit it’s target anyway. Although great feathery wings like those belonging to Grian did make him an easy target – they were huge!

X sighed at them, trying and failing to hide a smile. “Says the person who nearly walked off the edge of a _regular_ cliff. Twice.”

“Quit acting smart, Mr Ex-Eye-Zooma. Remind us again how you get punched by a villager. They literally don’t have fists.” Grian shoved his hands into the sleeves of his jumper to imitate a villager, then tripped over some exposed quartz and narrowly missed braining himself on a stalagmite.

Doc patted out the flame on the gremlin’s hair as he clearly wasn’t going to do it himself. The urge to say something patronising was overruled by the temptation to complain about the heat. “How are you two not boiling to death in such warm clothes? I felt ready to melt into the floor.”

“Mmmmmmagic~” Grian picked himself off the floor and kept walking as if nothing had happened.

Xisuma nodded. “He makes us sound like idiots but yeah. Also I’ve got a cooling system in the suit anyway. Science and magic together for double the fun.”

The trio were able to laugh and joke carefree, but the nether was far more terrifying to those unfamiliar with it, like the parade of villagers who broke out into panic whenever a stone moved or the lava spat. Though the situation was very annoying, everyone was thankful that there weren’t any llamas with them, as the grumpy animals were likely to piss off a pigman and get everyone gutted. Although pigs were herbivores, that was no guarantee these ones were too.

* * *

The villagers had eventually managed to communicate that they wished to rest for the night. Granted, the nether didn’t exactly have a day or a night but it was a good idea to pretend, even though the Hermits, as an unspoken rule, didn’t abide by any reasonable sleep schedule.

A liberal amount of TNT later, there was a hollowed out section of mountain that they set as camp. Xisuma procured a bed roll from… somewhere... and settled down to sleep. Grian set up a little bubble of silence around him and everyone, including the forty or so villagers, left him to rest. Everyone worried about him, especially since he worked himself to death so often.

After a period of scrambling everyone had found a makeshift bed of some sort. It was too warm for blankets but the thick woollen coats of the tundra dwellers were excellent as soft mattresses, and it made carrying them around all day worth it after all.

“Hey Doc, can you lend me a hand with lighting this place up?” Grian called to his friend. “Something might spawn and kill us in our sleep because of what X said is happening.”

Disgruntled at being woken, Doc simply removed his metal arm and threw it in the vague direction of the voice.

Grian stared at the appendage. “…”

“…”

“Did you just make a pu-“

“Go to sleep.” Doc warned. “Or I’ll throw a villager at you.”

“I bet you’re not strong enough.” He goaded.

“Would you like me to suplex you into a lava lake? I only need one arm.”

Grian pulled off his beloved jumped and rolled it up into a makeshift pillow. “I’m asleep, doing sleepy things. Dreams. Doing dreams, yep. Night night!”

“…Can I have my arm back please?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have plans now.


End file.
